


The Fight

by Heather_Night



Series: Shake It Up [1]
Category: Animal Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anger Management, Blindness, Cage Fights, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:20:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21792892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heather_Night/pseuds/Heather_Night
Summary: “You won my slave, fair and fucking square.  But you’re not leaving until you fuck mi puta bonita.”  She spat the words at him, her teeth noticeably crooked as she settled her mouth into a mockery of a smile.The smile turned to a cackle as she reached behind her and yanked something forward.Someone.There was lots of pale, freckled skin marked up with varying shades of blacks, blues, purples, greens and yellows but that wasn’t the surprising part; it was a guy.  Wide shouldered and slim hipped.  He was wearing ridiculous shorts that barely covered anything.TT fisted her hand in the back of the guy’s hair and tilted his head upward.  “Say hello to Pope, Pretty.”“Hello, Pope.”
Relationships: Andrew "Pope' Cody/Adrian Dolan, Craig Cody/Renn Randall
Series: Shake It Up [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1570450
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	The Fight

**Author's Note:**

> Once again please note the relationship tag. Pope is fun to write.

Pope rolled his shoulders as he stood in the center of the ring, waiting for his opponent. He’d been at this compound for a week now and he just wanted to finish it.

It had been six months since the big quake had knocked everybody’s asses off axis, at least those that hadn’t been dumped into the ocean along with a huge chunk of California. Lena was okay; everyone else could go fuck themselves as far as he was concerned.

Fighting gave him purpose.

It had won him substantial cash prizes.

He had made peace with the fact he could die while doing this risky shit but he wanted to put this annoying Trujillo bitch in her place. It was her compound, and her rules, and she was a fucking idiot.

“There’s no way you’ll beat Alejandro. He’s fucking going to light your ass up.” Her voice was like fingernails on a chalkboard.

Pope had heard it all before. He was too small, or too weak or too fill-in-the-blank to take down stupid fuckers bigger than he was. Size should’ve mattered but when it came to cage matches, Pope ruled.

“Hey, TT, why don’t you bet something that really matters if you’re so sure?” Pope didn’t recognize the voice but it was young and male and every bit as irritating as the Trujillo bitch.

She put her fists on her hips and glared. “Like what?”

“How ‘bout your prized bitch?” Someone else screamed.

Pope rolled his eyes. He didn’t want a piece of tail. He could buy that if he wanted, he had enough money.

Trujilla hesitated.

This, whoever they were talking about, meant something to her.

She’d tipped her hand and showed a weakness.

Pope wanted to win now more than ever just to take something of hers. Like she’d played a part in taking Baz and Lucy. For her it had just been business but Baz had been Pope’s family.

Fucking cunt.

Someone was shoved to the front of the crowd. Pope had an impression of medium length, wavy copper colored hair and a blue slave’s collar and that was it before the prized bitch was made to kneel in front of Trujillo.

“That works,” Pope gritted out. He didn’t want or need a slave but if it bothered Tina ‘TT’ Trujillo, he wanted in.

Slavery had popped right up after the quake when people with little resources needed to make a living. Technically they weren’t slaves—they were indentured servants—but only six months out who the fuck knew how things would play out. Any way you sliced it they were basically whores. 

Pope didn’t have a problem with whores. 

The badass he was facing in the ring finally swaggered in and Pope’s higher brain functioning went offline. 

He saw an opponent and he wanted to kill him.

He was made to fight.

He lost himself in the rhythm of the match, kicking and punching and scratching and clawing. The piece of shit he was facing got in a solid hit and that was enough for Pope to see red.

Actual red mist clouded his vision.

When he came back to himself TT’s big gun was on the ground, cradling his groin, crying like a baby.

Pope had won.

Trujillo stomped away, spitting something at Pope in mangled Spanish, pausing only long enough to wallop the kneeling slave in the face with her fist.

The crowd thinned out and Pope stepped over his opponent, heading to the locker room to rinse off and get his keys. He touched his fat lip and his tender eye but everything else was just vague aches and pains, barely registering. Tomorrow he would feel it.

Today he had a slave to collect.

Once he stepped out of the locker room, damp but clean, he was ‘invited’ to join one of TT’s henchman. He was shown to a room filled with the upper echelon when it came to the cage fighting fans; people with too much money and too little sense but at least TT was less likely to pull something with so many witnesses. She had zero regard for laws south of the border but she did care about her good standing with these fucking trust fund bimbos who didn’t know how to do anything for themselves except watch cage matches and gorge themselves on the excesses of life.

TT stood before him, her long, dark hair an unruly mop, her dark eyes flashing, and her lips curved into a crude leer. She was as ugly on the outside as she was on the inside.

A kindred spirit. Pope could’ve respected her if it hadn’t been for Baz and Lucy.

“You won my slave, fair and fucking square. But you’re not leaving until you fuck mi puta bonita.” She spat the words at him, her teeth noticeably crooked as she settled her mouth into a mockery of a smile.

The smile turned to a cackle as she reached behind her and yanked something forward.

Someone.

There was lots of pale, freckled skin marked up with varying shades of blacks, blues, purples, greens and yellows but that wasn’t the surprising part; it was a guy. Wide shouldered and slim hipped. He was wearing ridiculous shorts that barely covered anything. 

TT fisted her hand in the back of the guy’s hair and tilted his head upward. “Say hello to Pope, Pretty.”

“Hello, Pope.” 

_Fuck_

Pope knew that voice.

Adrian Dolan.

Deran’s one-time obsession and then supposed love of his life.

Adrian’s face was thinner than Pope remembered and he stared somewhere over Pope’s shoulder.

Weird.

Although if TT thought fucking a guy was going to put him off his prize, she was delusional. It didn’t really faze him that he’d been Deran’s main squeeze; his brother should’ve done a better job of protecting what was his. It was like nothing he’d tried to instill in Deran had taken. 

Fuck family; Pope was flying high on post-match endorphins and a hole was a hole. 

He said as much before adding, “I take it you want to watch?” Pope crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at the woman.

She resembled a witch with all that kinky dark hair and unbridled hostility glaring at him. A bruja? He wasn’t fluid in any language except English. 

Something was snarled at him and the only word he understood was yes as TT rained invective upon him in Spanish. Adrian came flying at him, shoved violently from behind and Pope only caught him because his reflexes kicked in. 

He looked around and spotted a couch. He yanked Adrian along, his fingers wrapped around a surprisingly dainty wrist, bending him over the back of the floral monstrosity with more force than was needed. He yanked down the blue booty shorts, slapping an ass cheek as the slave—Adrian—protested.

With all of the care he’d typically show a whore, Pope dropped his pants, grabbed his dick, and rammed it home.

It was tight, almost too tight, and Pope didn’t last long—his dick hadn’t been inside tight, velvety heat in too long—but when he finished it was to a round of applause.

Adrian remained draped over the back of the couch, back heaving as he gasped for breath.

“Vete!” She screamed and even without being fluent Pope knew that meant get out.

He grabbed Adrian’s arm and hoisted him upright, ignoring his whimper as he dragged him away from the crowd. The guy fumbled to pull his shorts up although Pope didn’t know why he bothered; he was practically naked even with the scrap of clothing.

His bruises were starting to make themselves known and Pope needed Adrian to stop staggering around and walk under his own steam. Although maybe he was hurt; he was probably as bruised up as much if not more than Pope. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He snapped as Adrian ricocheted off a wall. He was at the end of his patience, the mellow feeling from a good fucking fading quickly.

Adrian made a strangled noise in the back of his throat but he kept his head down. The kid Pope had known was too stupid to back down, yapping like a puppy, even when silence was the wiser choice. 

Pope stopped moving, yanking Adrian around, shaking him. “Tell me.” 

Lifting his chin up, Adrian stared but he wasn’t staring at Pope. “I’m blind and I can’t see where I’m going so you’ll have to forgive me if I’m a little uncoordinated.”

That set Pope back on his heels. It explained the blank stare and almost empty expression on the guy’s face.

It also might explain why Adrian was a slave. 

Just like when he was a kid, Adrian plowed onward even though he should’ve quit while he was ahead. “You also fucked me without lube and let me tell you, it’s hard to walk when it stings like a bitch.”

The only positive spin Pope could put on this was that his new slave wasn’t sniveling. 

As usual, the negatives outweighed the positives by a landslide.

He now had a blind slave that he hadn’t wanted in the first place.

-0-

Pope parked the Gobi Jeep Gladiator in front of the cabin. They were in the middle of fucking nowhere which was how Pope liked it. Close enough to town to get supplies if needed but far enough out that no one would stop by uninvited.

At least if they had a brain in their head.

The place had a generator that ran on solar power—living in the desert supplied plenty of energy—so he had both electricity and also water supplied by a well. It was surprisingly comfortable and best of all there were no people around.

He turned his head. Nope, he could no longer make that claim; there were now too many people around for Pope’s liking. Adrian slumped against the passenger window, having fallen into a deep sleep once the Jeep started bouncing outside of the city’s limits. 

Grabbing the bag that had been slapped into his hand as they retreated from the compound, Pope quietly exited the Jeep. It didn’t take much effort to wire the sensors around the cabin.

There was no way a slave could leave the cabin without receiving a nasty shock. In theory an indentured slave wouldn’t leave—it was a part of the contract—but people always found a way to game the system and this was supposed to be insurance against it.

He moved down the driveway and planted the exterior sensors which resembled solar powered lawn lights; the collar on a slave’s neck would deliver a near fatal shock when trying to sneak past these nifty devices.

Pope wasn’t sure he even needed to bother. If Adrian ran away it was no great loss. Even though he’d had no interest in having a slave, Pope still knew about how the collar, and sensors, worked. He’d always excelled at the electrical aspects of the jobs they’d run back in the day and he had a natural curiosity that he liked to satisfy so learning about indentured servants, and their accessories, had been easy. It was kind of energizing to use this skillset again.

Pope hadn’t particularly wanted a slave but now that he had one, he found himself warming to the idea.

He hadn’t been lying when he’d said a hole was a hole and he acknowledged getting off with a semi willing body had been more than pleasant. 

Stalking back to the Jeep, he yanked the passenger door open. Adrian startled, holding his hands in front of him as if he could ward off evil spirits. He didn’t yell or bitch though so at least there was that.

Pope cleared his throat. “Come on, we’re going inside.”

Adrian barely got the safety belt unlatched before Pope pulled him out of his seat. When the guy stumbled, Pope rolled his eyes but he wrapped his hand around Adrian’s left biceps and navigated him up the stairs and through the door. His touch was by no means gentle but Adrian didn’t complain and he actually allowed himself to be steered, following Pope’s lead easily.

“Home, sweet home?” Adrian mumbled.

That was the smart-ass Pope was used to from when Deran used to bring his little friends around to the pool when Smurf was away on business. Come to think of it, although Adrian had been sarcastic, he was less irritating then the other losers. He also had a brain if memory served Pope right with a wit that could be amusing…for short periods of time.

Of all of the little crowd his baby brother had run with, this guy had been the least annoying.

Pope realized he had to narrate a tour of the cabin if he didn’t want to suffer through Adrian’s flailing attempts to navigate the place. He had no plans to lock Adrian in one room nor play babysitter so he’d best just get this done.

“We’re in the living room. Couch, loveseat, coffee table and side tables with lamps. Next is the kitchen; standard with counters, stovetop and fridge but no island. One bedroom—king sized bed, dresser and nightstands. Next is one bathroom with standard tub and vanity sink. Last is the mud room which has the washer and dryer.” Pope glanced at Adrian.

Adrian raised an eyebrow.

“What’s that look for?” Pope wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

He expected some comment about Pope actually having laundry facilities but instead Adrian asked, “Hardwood floors, wood ceiling beams and no rugs?”

“Yes.” His response was grudging. The guy wasn’t completely useless after all. And he still had a brain. 

Adrian nodded his head somewhere behind Pope. “That’s the bedroom?”

Pope grunted his assent. He trailed behind as the blind guy used the walls of the hallway to guide him to his destination.

As soon as he stood next to the bed Adrian dropped to his knees, his hands unerringly finding the fly of Pope’s pants. Before he could draw a breath, the guy was fondling his junk, tucking his briefs beneath their weight.

Pope let his fist fly, making solid contact with Adrian’s sharp jawline. He pulled his briefs and pants up before crossing his arms over his chest.

The guy sprawled onto his ass with a muted groan. He lightly massaged his newly bruised face. “What the fuck?”

“Exactly,” Pope huffed back. “What the fuck were you doing?”

“I was giving you a blow job! Isn’t that why I’m here?” Adrian glared in Pope’s general direction.

Pope wasn’t gay—he liked women fine although they were pretty much just a hole anymore and Adrian’s hole had been every bit as tight if not tighter—but he had to give Adrian his due; the guy was a looker.

His hair was disheveled around his face, some of the longer strands brushing his collar bones. The texture looked soft and the color was a mix of light brown, copper and blond and it matched his fair complexion. And his freckles. The freckles were a nice touch. They made him seem vulnerable. Like the hair brushing his protruding collar bones. No wonder TT had wanted him. There was no way that ugly bitch could’ve kept a guy like Adrian without a contract.

Adrian was a study in contrasts. His Nordic bone structure made him look fragile but the body Pope had pushed beneath him hours before had a sturdiness to it. Made to bend and not break.

Pope was usually indifferent to eye color but the deep blue of the ocean staring back at him from the pale skin was mesmerizing. Or stared near him.

Being blind must suck. 

Adrian crinkled his nose and looked around. “Hello?”

“Jesus Christ, I’m right here. Take my hand.” Pope held his hand out and Adrian managed to latch onto it, pulling himself to his feet. He was taller than Pope which was irritating for some reason but he was very slender and graceful despite the blindness.

Pope’s libido perked up. He had a slave and he could make use of him. It was practically in the job description. “I just want to use your hole.”

“Lucky for me I’m into anal sex,” Adrian sassed back. He pushed those blue shorts—tight and short—down but they snagged on his muscular thighs. 

Pope’s patience snapped. He reached down and grabbed the fragile material, yanking until it tore, the ripping sound filling the room.

Adrian let himself be manhandled, twisting wherever Pope tugged him, splaying across the bed when Pope planted his hand between his shoulder blades and gave a hard push.

Unlike the whores he’d fucked before, Adrian withstood the punishment, actually giving a whoop of what sounded like excitement.

“Wait!” There it was; Pope knew Adrian wasn’t going to be into this.

Pope held him down, his hand cupped behind his neck, not allowing any movement of his head. Adrian’s body stilled, too; it was a rush to have the toned body beneath him.

Did the guy like being dominated like this? It seemed it was possible.

He finally unstuck his mouth enough to grunt out, “What?”

“Do you have lube?” Adrian’s voice was muffled, his face pushed into the comforter. 

Pope groaned. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“Yes, yes, for fuck’s sake! Please, we need lube!” Either Adrian was a consummate actor or he really was into this. 

Adrian’s body gave a wiggle beneath Pope’s firm hands, like an excited puppy squirming.

Pope was going with Adrian being into _this_ — _this_ being roughly fucked by Pope—and it was such a turn on. He could count on one hand the number of times partners had been into sex with Pope.

Although this was straight fucking.

Letting up on the pressure to Adrian’s back, Pope reached into the nightstand and found some KY Jelly. He smeared his dick with the substance and then almost as an afterthought coated an index finger and drove it into Adrian’s backdoor.

Adrian arched against the bed, and Pope’s body clenched in anticipation. His willing hole spoke up, almost taking him out of the mood. “Feels like KY Jelly. For your information, Astroglide is the better choice—”

“God damn, where’s your off switch? Do you ever shut the fuck up?” Pope withdrew his finger and replaced it with his dick.

The slide into tight heat was pure heaven.

Pope pulled nearly all of the way out and thrust forward with a snap.

Adrian moaned.

“Yeah, there’s the off switch.” Pope’s ability to string a sentence together fled as he lost himself in the rock and roll of his hips.

The muscular body beneath him was surprisingly pleasing as he thrust against it. His slave moaned and groaned and whined and it could’ve been obnoxious but Pope took it as appreciation for his fucking.

Here was a body that could withstand his attentions.

He didn’t have to pay him because he already owned him.

He didn’t have to romance him because—hello—slave.

That was the last coherent thought he had as his brain drained out of his dick. 

He hoped Adrian was clean. He supposed that was a conversation he should’ve had previously although bringing it up when he’d been at TT’s Compound hadn’t been the time.

Pope collapsed onto Adrian’s back as his energy left him in conjunction with blowing his wad. 

Adrian reached back and awkwardly patted Pope’s hip. It could’ve been acknowledgement of a _nice job_ or a _fuck, yeah_ or even a _you’re fucking heavy, get off_ but Adrian remained quiet, the only sound their mingled labored breathing.

For once his fuck partner wasn’t making excuses to get away, or go to the bathroom to clean up, or whatever the hell justifications they came up with. It was almost…pleasant.

Relaxing even.

Pope rolled off when the bruises across his abdomen gave a twinge of reminder. 

Adrian gave a cute little snort, apparently dropping off to sleep. The sleep of the well-fucked?

The sleep of the exhausted more like it. 

Pope wanted some answers. He poked Adrian sharply in the ribs.

The guy rolled to his side, shying away. “What?” He grumbled.

His slave obviously wasn’t scared of him. 

_His slave._. That was a good place to start. “When did you become a slave?”

Adrian’s unseeing eyes stared into the distance and he scratched idly at his inner elbow. “Smurf wanted me gone so she made it happen. Turned me over to TT. I wasn’t a slave that that point, that came later.”

Smurf.

It always went back to that she-bitch. 

“And the blindness?” Pope waved his hand in front of Adrian’s face but he didn’t flinch or blink or give any sign that someone was waving a hand in his face.

Pope doubted that could be faked. 

“Earthquake, I guess. Being an indentured servant seemed my best option seeing as I couldn’t do anything for myself. I’m dependent on others for survival. I’m fucked. So, you know, I decided I might as well just get fucked to survive.” Adrian’s tone was pretty chill but Pope didn’t delude himself into thinking the guy’s time at the compound had been wine and roses.

The bruises littering his body pretty much put paid to that notion.

Adrian smiled brightly, big, blue eyes blinking toward Pope. “Are you setting me free or are you keeping me?”

Big, blue, _blind_ eyes. Adrian was right, he was fucked. He was dependent on Pope for the basics and it wasn’t like Pope could pat him on the head and push him out the door and he’d make it.

He was vulnerable in a way that few people in Pope’s life had ever really been. 

Lena was the exception.

Apparently, Adrian was another.

“You’re staying with me.” His voice was gruff with emotion.

Adrian just shrugged, seemingly unbothered. “You can fuck me like that any time you want—obviously, since I’m your slave—but if there’s anything else you want me to do around here, I’m not completely useless.”

Pope realized Adrian was correct. He might be blind, completely dependent on Pope for everything, but he’d been smart enough to strike a deal for survival.

He could respect that. And work with it.

Somewhere deep within him a buried protective instinct, lying dormant since Lena went to her new family, awakened.

-0-

“It gets cold out here at night this time of year.” Pope’s words startled Adrian who had been using the handheld burr grinder on some coffee beans.

Adrian lifted his head and stared toward Pope. His eyes were just a little off the mark, staring over Pope’s shoulder, and when he was tired, like now, the one pupil strayed inward.

His headaches were frequent and sometimes kept Pope from banging him. 

Pope needed to have a neurologist examine Adrian. 

Clothing and consults…it all costed money. As much as things had changed due to the earthquake coined _The Big One_ , they had still remained the same in other areas.

Money still made the world go ‘round.

He had money tucked away but he wanted more. He’d laid off the fighting circuit as he got Adrian settled but he didn’t have an excuse now. Except maybe that the urge to fight had been subsumed by the need to take care of his blind slave.

Pope snorted; Adrian might be visually impaired but he had no problems sticking up for himself.

“What?” Adrian’s focus had zeroed in on Pope once he made another noise. The guy really was a looker which amused Pope because until the compound, Pope had never thought of another guy like that before. He thought of very few women that way either, to be fair. A hole was a hole and Adrian stood up to his punishing brand of fucking better than anyone else ever had.

The fact that he came in a pretty package was just gravy.

“There’s a fight this afternoon.” Pope had about an hour before he needed to head out. Now that he’d made up his mind, he was committed to his plan.

Adrian’s mouth dropped open. He snapped it shut and set the grinder down on the table, carefully, before rising to his feet. His fingers scratched at the skin on the inside of his elbow. A nervous tick? “You want to fight?” Adrian sounded confused. Unhappy.

The answer: Not really. But he needed the money and he was good at this. “You need warmer clothing.”

Stepping his way gingerly toward Pope, Adrian frowned. “I’ll be okay, Pope. I don’t need anything.”

It sounded like Adrian was asking Pope not to go. A part of him was pleased. 

Another part was pissed; no one told him what to do. Not anymore.

“I’m going.” His word was final.

“But what if something happens? I can’t get out without being zapped.” Adrian sounded really worried.

He rarely voiced his concerns.

Pope cleared his throat. “Like what?” He tried to think of scenarios in which Adrian would need to get outside. “Are you talking about a fire? Don’t set a fucking fire in here.”

Adrian rubbed his own arms briskly as if chilled. “What if something happens to you, Pope. I can’t help you if I’m stuck inside.”

“The fuck kind of help do you think you could give me?” Pope fired back. He took care of himself. Ever since Julia left the house, Pope had gotten himself into jams but also gotten himself out of them.

Mostly.

Chin tucked down, eyes downcast, Adrian’s misery was a palpable thing.

Pope patted his shoulder gruffly as he strolled by. “It’ll be fine. I should be back by nightfall.”

Silence greeted his words but as Pope pulled the Jeep away, he glanced at the house and saw Adrian’s face in the window. 

It was a good final reminder of why he was hitting another cage match.

-0-

Pope knew he should’ve passed on the final fight but he’d wanted the big payout. The gamble had paid off so if they were careful with money, and Pope picked up some other jobs around town, he wouldn’t have to fight for a damned long time if ever.

Unless the urge to pummel something was too intense. Fighting was an excellent outlet for his darker impulses.

At least he’d won the motherlode but now his head ached like a bitch. He’d taken a left hook to the side of his head and he’d kept on his feet but the dizziness had made him nauseous. 

After the win he’d taken the money to the bank, or what passed for it around here, and he’d taken care of that business without a problem. That had changed on the drive home which had become challenging as dark blotches filled his vision intermittently. 

Now he was parked as close to the front steps of the cabin as he could get as he tried to figure out if he could make it up the stairs and inside. He threw open the door and the warning chimed; he’d left the engine on and the Jeep idled, wasting gas.

Another sign of concussion.

It took all of his coordination but he turned off the Jeep and closed the door, weaving up the stairs. The door wavered in front of him and he reached for it but missed.

He crashed to his knees and then his side, his head spinning.

He could hear a distant voice calling to him but he’d just rest his eyes for a minute and then he’d get up. 

When he roused the plank beneath his head felt suspiciously soft and when he won the fight and raised his eyelids, the dark beams of the ceiling in the cabin greeted him. How the fuck had he made it inside? The last he remembered he’d hit the deck and was gathering his reserves to make another go at the door.

Pope had a vague memory of a soft voice whispering assurances to him and wiping his face with a cool, damp cloth. He cautiously turned his head to the side and found coppery strands lying on the pillow next to his face, tickling his skin as he moved. The effort of focusing made his head ache but the pale, freckled skin stretched over the exposed high, sharp cheekbone and cut jaw left him in no doubt as to the person slumped on his bed—his own personal angel, Adrian. 

Levering up on his elbows, Pope waited for the room to stop moving in disorienting swoops. Once he was reasonably sure his stomach wasn’t going to flip inside out, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. 

The movement was enough to awaken Adrian who bolted upright, sightless eyes still managing to pin Pope in their magnetic blue laser beams. “Pope? Are you okay?”

Pope took a moment to assess his condition. “Yeah. Not great. But better.”

Adrian’s shoulders relaxed from around his ears and the relief was etched in the softening of his mouth. He put his hand over his heart, massaging it gently. “Shit, you scared me, Pope. You wouldn’t wake up and I didn’t have a way to contact anyone. I had a hard time lugging your ass inside. I think you shaved a decade off my life.”

He was used to feeling guilty for so many different reasons in his past life but it really hadn’t occurred to him that he wouldn’t come home. He remembered the way Adrian had been near frantic when Pope had left him behind.

Worried Pope would never return.

Pope had ignored Adrian’s fears, brushing off his worries.

What would have happened to Adrian if Pope had been injured, or worse? He’d been so focused on getting out of the lifestyle that he hadn’t really given that enough thought. He used to excel at long-range planning in the family. What the hell had happened to him?

Adrian rubbed at his neck, grimacing as he made contact with the collar.

“What’s wrong with your neck?” Pope’s voice was gruff as usual. He was having a hard time making sense of what had happened. He’d passed out on the porch and Adrian had taken care of him.

No one took care of him.

Not in a long damn time.

Adrian’s hand dropped into his lap and he looked guilty. “It’s nothing. I’m more worried about you. Are you dizzy? Nauseous? Can I get you something?”

Pope ignored Adrian’s nervous rumblings, approaching him with caution. The guy was pale but then again, when wasn’t he? The skin above and below his collar looked red. 

Raw.

Blistered.

Like the time he’d tested out the shock collar when he’d first brought Adrian home.

_Adrian had tried to run._

_Adrian had tried to leave Pope._

Pope stalked over and yanked Adrian up by his biceps until they were face to face. “You tried to run?”

He punctuated each word with a shake, mesmerized with the way Adrian’s head bobbed on his neck.

Adrian’s eyebrows pulled up in confusion but Pope didn’t let that dampen the anger igniting deep in his chest.

Rage and hurt. After everything Pope had done for him, Adrian repaid him by trying to run away?

Rage won out and he pushed Adrian away from him, bolting out of the bedroom. He was losing his focus but he knew he needed to get away before he lost it. 

He made it into the living room when his feelings exploded into violence. His last rational thought before the red haze overtook him had something to do with chair legs embedded in drywall.

Once his head cleared Pope dropped to his knees. Everything hurt. His head, his hands, his back…hell, even the toes on his right foot. He vaguely remembered kicking the ottoman across the room which would explain the pain in that area.

It didn’t explain why his stomach and chest ached. It wasn’t the kind of ache he got from punches or kicks either. His emotions bubbled and churned in those organs.

_Adrian had tried to run._

Pope took some deep breaths and tried to reason through the problem. It’s what he should’ve done before losing his shit but the terrible pain of betrayal had stolen over him before he could use his brain.

Why did Adrian come back? Because Pope was hurt? That was a reasonable explanation. It was hard to imagine Adrian leaving someone he knew behind when they were injured. Adrian had a smart mouth but he didn’t have a mean bone in his body.

It was more likely that he’d received the warning shock as he stepped outside and knew if he passed the edge of the driveway, he’d receive a full blast from his collar.

But how would Adrian know Pope was hurt?

Shit. Pope had passed out on the porch and woken up in bed. He didn’t levitate there by magic. Adrian must’ve come outside to haul Pope into the house.

_That_ was more likely than Adrian taking off.

The only way to know for sure was to ask the guy.

And then probably do one of the things he hated doing most in the world…apologizing.

It wasn’t that he was opposed to admitting when he was wrong, it just seemed like when he did it was held against him. He shook off that thought; he’d deal with that when it happened. 

Pope was a little surprised Adrian wasn’t peeking around the corner to see what was going on. He snorted; he supposed that wouldn’t happen since Adrian couldn’t see. If he was smart, he was hiding. Waiting for the storm to blow over.

“Adrian?” His tone was nice and even so hopefully Adrian would know it was safe to come out. He entered the bedroom cautiously—if he’d been Adrian, he would’ve found a weapon and wouldn’t hesitate to use it—but there was no sign of him.

Movement behind the bed attracted his attention. Hiding beneath the bed was something a kid would do but Adrian probably felt like he didn’t have great options which made Pope feel shitty. 

Coming around the bed to offer a hand he stopped in his tracks. Adrian was crumpled on his left side at the base of the wall. Pope could see he was breathing but his eyes were closed and he wasn’t moving despite the awkward position he was in.

Pope barely squeezed into the space, taking a knee. “Adrian, can you hear me?”

Adrian moaned a response and his eyes opened. “Pope? You okay?” His words slurred a little.

“I’m not the one impersonating a rug on the floor. What the hell happened?” Pope didn’t mean to sound so harsh but he was worried. Slurring could mean he bit something in his mouth but it could be a head injury.

Adrian didn’t need another head injury. Hell, he hadn’t fully recovered from his first one and it had been months. 

“I think I tripped. Help me up?” At least Adrian wasn’t afraid of him as he put his right hand out, asking for assistance but he sounded confused.

Pope frowned as he took Adrian’s hand; had Adrian tripped or had Pope done this to him? He’d lost his shit completely so he didn’t trust his memory.

He eased Adrian upright and noticed right away his left arm was swollen. He also listed against the wall where he rested. 

“We need to go into town.” It was the only option. Adrian needed to be seen by a doctor.

Adrian panicked, clutching at Pope, crying out as his injured arm collided with Pope. “No! Please! I’ll be good.”

Adrian’s eyes darted around frantically and he panted in distress. 

Pope sucked at comforting. It’s why he’d always let Craig take care of Deran. Was happy when Julia found Baz. Pope was pragmatic so he could see what needed to be done but when there was an emotional component…he typically failed.

He gathered Adrian against his chest, shushing him. “It’s okay. You need a doctor. You broke your arm.” Technically Pope probably broke his arm but Adrian barely heard him in his panic- stricken state.

He remained in the crouched stance, rocking Adrian against him, waiting for the storm to pass. When Adrian stopped twitching, Pope figured it was safe to make his move. “Come on, I’ll help you.”

Adrian was scarily compliant as he let Pope pull him to his feet and guide him toward the front of the house. Adrian’s feet dragged and he began to struggle as they neared the exit. “Please, it hurts.” He rubbed at his throat with his undamaged hand.

The collar. Great. He’d almost tried electrocuting Adrian again. “Tip your head forward.” Pope stabbed out the code to disable the device, blocking out Adrian’s sobbing breaths.

He was used to seeing Adrian stand up to him even when he shouldn’t. Seeing him like this was…demoralizing.

“Come on. We’ll get you fixed and then come right back.” 

Pope knew the doctor would see to Adrian’s body with enough money but he wasn’t so sure about fixing his spirit.

This was why getting close to people didn’t work out for Pope. He always fucked it up.

-0-

The visit to the medical clinic was a blur with Pope doing everything in his power to prop Adrian up as he flinched every time the doctor touched him. A broken arm, concussion and a second degree burn on his neck—nothing life threatening but Pope didn’t like how traumatized Adrian acted throughout the exam.

Pope had declined the services of the doctor for himself although he’d taken the offered painkillers so he’d have something for Adrian later. Assuming Adrian started interacting with his surroundings again.

For the last twenty-four hours Adrian had either slept or pretended he was sleeping. 

For the first time since Pope brought Adrian home from the compound, he didn’t have the urge to fuck him. 

He did have the urge to touch him though. Confirm he was still alive. Pope hadn’t felt this way about anyone since Lena. His niece had needed his protection. So did Adrian.

Kicking off his shoes, Pope gingerly climbed behind Adrian and rested his arm around his waist. He made sure to avoid the broken arm as he splayed his hand against Adrian’s chest. The gentle movements of his breathing quieted the clamor in Pope’s brain.

Pope drowsed for a while but movement woke him up. Adrian was sitting up, maybe trying to get his bearings. “Adrian?” At least he didn’t flinch at Pope’s voice. 

“Bathroom, please?” Adrian’s voice was scratchy and low from disuse. And tentative. Too fucking tentative. This was the guy who stood up to Pope after Pope slapped him down.

Rolling off the bed, Pope stood in front of Adrian, hands extended. “Here, let me help. You might be dizzy or some shit.”

Adrian hesitated but finally put his unbroken limb out, grabbing onto Pope’s hand. There was no small talk as Adrian shuffled toward the bathroom, guarding his left arm against his stomach.

Pausing outside of the door, Adrian’s head remained bent. “Can I shower please?”

What was with all of the asking for permission? And it sounded so formal. Pope didn’t know how to address the problem, not with Adrian swaying lightly in place, looking so damned fragile.

In Pope’s world, fragile got smashed to smithereens. He didn’t want to see Adrian so broken.

“Just watch your arm. The doctor didn’t think it needed a cast but you’re not supposed to use it.” That’s not what the asshole doctor had said; he’d said he wouldn’t waste the resources on a slave and by that point Pope had just wanted to take Adrian home so he hadn’t pushed.

Pope remained outside of the door in case Adrian needed him. He almost let himself in when he heard Adrian sob out a breath but he’d quickly quieted and Pope had locked his feet in place.

In ten short minutes Adrian emerged from the bathroom, damp but clean, his face pinched in pain. 

“I’ll get something for the pain.” Pope dodged around the detritus in the living room on his way to the kitchen. He filled a glass with water and pulled the pills out.

Something crashed in the living room and Pope darted out of the kitchen, frowning at Adrian who leaned against the wall, cradling his broken arm against his stomach.

“Here, pills.” Pope sat the water on the floor as he took Adrian’s good hand in his own and spilled two of the white pills into it. Once Adrian had popped them into his mouth, he pushed the glass into the same hand. “Water.”

Adrian took the pills without complaint.

And without sound.

Pope sighed. “Come on, back to the bedroom. You should lay down.”

Adrian’s hair was still a wet mess and would only get worse if Pope didn’t do something about it. He guided Adrian against the headboard, propping pillows behind him; Adrian moved with a pliancy Pope had only seen during sex.

It was hard to think of sex at the moment. He just wanted smart-assed Adrian back.

He grabbed a towel and comb from the bathroom. First, he blotted the excess moisture from the soft strands and then he gently tugged the wide-toothed comb through the mess, tugging out snarls and knots. When it was as combed out as Pope had the patience for, he put the towel over Adrian’s head and rubbed some more. Gently.

When he was done, he lifted the towel and found a sleepy looking Adrian, face relaxed and mouth open, sprawled against the pillows. 

Okay, sex was still on his mind.

But first they had issues to resolve.

“You were right.” Pope waited for Adrian to shove that in his face or demand something in return.

Adrian stared toward him, his eyes focused just to the left of Pope’s face. He frowned, biting his lip. 

Pope didn’t have a thing for mouths. He couldn’t stand kissing.

But Adrian’s mouth, bowed into a pout with straight, white teeth gnawing at the pink, glistening lower lip…he had a thing for _that._

He’d smacked Adrian for offering a blowjob but damn, he wanted to see that pouty mouth wrapped around his dick. Licking and sucking, cheeks hollowed out.

Kissing didn’t seem disgusting either. He would mash his mouth against Adrian’s, thrusting his tongue inside…Adrian would probably make those little moans that drove Pope crazy.

Yeah, he needed to fix this. 

“I shouldn’t have left you alone with the collar still activated. If the cabin had caught on fire or someone had showed up…I’m sorry.” His own voice was pure gravel, low and gritty and groveling.

Pope didn’t grovel.

The sleepiness had fled from Adrian’s face. The fingers of his right hand poked at the still raw looking skin at his throat even as he flinched at the contact. He kept poking at the sore though. 

But still Adrian remained silent.

“Fine, I’ll tear up your papers. You’re no longer be a slave then. You’ll be free.” There was a bit more to it than that—he’d have to file papers in town—but it wasn’t that hard. Pope supposed he should’ve done that to begin with but Adrian had explained why he was a slave and he’d kept his chin up, daring Pope to look down on him.

Adrian had been in a very shitty position and he’d made the most of it. Put himself in a better position.

Pope didn’t know what kind of response he expected—maybe gratitude or scolding or hell, _an about fucking time_ —but Adrian’s face twisted into grief wasn’t it.

“Adrian?” Pope wanted to comfort the guy but as usual he didn’t know how to go about it.

“Did I do something wrong?” Adrian’s voice was shaky, his face was pink and his eyes glistened with—fuck—moisture. 

“What? No! What the fuck, Adrian. I thought you’d be happy.” Pope tugged on the strands of his own hair so his hands wouldn’t touch Adrian and fuck this up more.

Adrian dashed the back of his hand across his eyes, smearing the moisture on his face. Hell, Adrian’s face looked like that after Pope fucked him good. Instead of a physical fucking he felt like he was handing out a mental one and that wasn’t what he wanted to achieve here.

With a deep sigh, Adrian dropped his head, his hair sliding forward. Hiding him from Pope’s view. “I don’t know why you’re trying to get rid of me. I can do better you know.” With that, his chin came up and his pretty blue eyes, lashes matted with moisture, blinked becomingly.

Now who was the recipient of the mental fucking? “Jesus Fucking Christ, I just want you back.”

Adrian’s eyebrows pulled up, creased in puzzlement. “But I never left?”

“You’re acting like a pod person, Adrian. You’re not talking so there’s no sarcasm and you’re letting me push you around…that’s not you.” Pope was disgusted, he just didn’t know which one of them caused that feeling. 

Adrian shifted forward, his good hand snagging in Pope’s shirt. “Just don’t leave me home alone again like that. That’s all I ask.” His eyes were still suspiciously shiny but there was a fire in them that had been missing before. 

_Home_. Adrian called his place here with Pope home.

“Yeah, fine.” He let his fingers tangle in Adrian’s damp waves. So soft and shiny. 

Adrian’s smile was blinding. His eyes crinkled at the corners.

This was Adrian’s real smile. Not that plastic thing he’d been trotting out before.

He had done this. He had made Adrian happy.

And it felt good.

-0-

Pope looked around the main living space. He’d finally replaced some of the items he’d ruined and although it was nothing fancy to look at it was both functional and comfortable. What more did he need?

“Hey, Pope, if you’re not busy could you please help me sort the laundry?” Adrian’s husky voice lilted from the back of the cabin. 

_That’s what he needed._ His lips curled into a slight smile when he thought about Adrian. It was habit more than anything that made him growl his response. “Just keep your pants on and I’ll be there in a minute.” 

“But I just took my pants off so I could wash them!” Adrian sassed him back.

Pope barked a laugh although the humor died when he entered the back porch where Adrian was surrounded by piles of clothing, clad in one of Pope’s t-shirts.

And nothing else.

They both tensed when the sound of car door slamming outside interrupted their peaceful existence.

“Stay out of sight while I check this out. If I give the signal, go to the basement.” His tone was curt although he was sure his expression was less so as his attention swept over Adrian’s pale, freckled, _exposed_ skin. “And put some fucking clothing on.” He quickly moved to the living room and retrieved the shot gun from its resting place in the corner certain Adrian would listen to him.

Adrian was smart and resourceful but he knew his lack of vision limited him and he deferred to Pope in most situations where there was an element of danger. Pope’s chest puffed up a bit at that easy acceptance. His family had shut him out as often as they’d listened and it had frustrated him no end.

He crouched down as he checked out the front window. There was a Jeep outside but whoever came in it was already approaching the door. 

Or circling the cabin.

“Yo. Anyone home?”

Pope knew that voice.

Craig.

His first impulse was to ignore his brother—Codys were bad news, even for other Codys—but his curiosity won out. He knew Lena was safe but he wanted to know how everyone had fared through the civilization shattering earthquake. It also thawed some of his mistrust that Craig had taken the time to look for him.

Or maybe he had come to do Smurf’s bidding. That Trujillo bitch had told him Smurf was dead but he hadn’t believed her.

There was only one way to find out. “Yeah, sure.”

Two sets of footsteps climbed the stairs and Pope raised the shot gun as first Craig and then a tall brunette woman entered his cabin.

Renn Randall.

Craig raised his hands which were free of weapons, his eyes narrowed in worry. “Dude, we come in peace.”

Renn snorted from behind Craig; she had always seemed to have a brain and Pope had wondered what she saw in his brother. Then again maybe Craig had finally given up the drugs that had addled his thinking processes. He wasn’t stupid by any means he just had a track record of making really shitty life decisions.

“Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink? I think we have iced coffee or water.” Pope gave his version of a welcome after visually confirming there were no overt weapons on their bodies. He was sure there was a gun, maybe a knife, but they weren’t primed to take him out. He lowered the shot gun and motioned to the couch with his free hand. 

Craig opened and closed his mouth, confusion pulling his eyebrows together. Before he could say anything, Renn smiled. “I would love some iced coffee. Thank you.”

Coffee was hard to come by up north but Pope had a good connection down here. It didn’t surprise him that Renn was eager to enjoy what was probably a treat to them.

Pope kept an eye on them from the kitchen as he poured out two drinks. He cradled the gun in the crook of his elbow as he clutched the cups with the drinks. “Here.” It was barely a grunt but he generally left the niceties to Adrian. He clunked the cups onto the coffee table.

Craig stared at the iced coffee and then up at Pope. “You said we.”

After scratching the back of his neck, Pope put up a finger to indicate he’d be right back and moved toward the back of the cabin. Adrian was dressed and hovering near the hatch to the basement, scratching at his arm. The other guy couldn’t see the smile splitting Pope’s face; Adrian had listened to him. Just like he knew he would. “It’s safe to come out.”

Adrian put his hand out without questioning Pope and Pope took his offered hand, guiding him into the living area.

“Adrian! It’s great to see you, man.” Craig set the cup on the coffee table with a clatter and was up on his feet and moving toward them, arms spread wide, before Pope could say anything.

Pope wryly smiled to himself; he didn’t warrant a hug but apparently Adrian did. Then again Adrian had probably never beat Craig up—the thought of the chill boy who had hung around Deran even looking cross-eyed at a Cody was ludicrous—so Pope understood Craig’s excitement at seeing his former surfing buddy over his own brother.

That didn’t mean he was going to let Craig get too close. Adrian was a solid line of warmth at Pope’s back, hand on his shoulder, as Pope put himself between the two men.

Craig’s face fell along with his arms. “What the fuck?”

Pope put his hand out on his brother’s chest. “Adrian’s blind so I can’t have you stampeding him.”

“Hey, Craig.” Adrian’s voice was tentative next to Pope’s ear.

“Blind? Jesus, Pope, what the hell did you do to him?” Craig’s eyes were wide and for the first time Pope could see they were clear. Not even bloodshot.

Adrian’s tone was droll. “I’m blind, not deaf. I can hear you just fine. And Pope didn’t do this to me. I don’t really know what happened, don’t remember, but it was the earthquake, man.”

Renn stood to the side of Craig, hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. 

“Renn’s here, too.” Pope volunteered when she continued to stare, statue still.

“Um, hi Renn.” The hand clasped to Pope’s shoulder tightened. “Is your son okay?”

Renn cleared her throat, eyes darting to Craig and then Pope before staring at Adrian. “He’s great. Five years old now. He’s up north. With family.” She gave Craig a look that Pope couldn’t quite interpret but he forgot about it with Adrian’s next words.

“Do you know if Jess…” Adrian’s voice trailed off weakly. Pope reached across his body and put the hand not holding the shot gun atop Adrian’s, willing strength into his touch.

Renn’s eyes dropped to the ground and Craig took a breath before answering. “I’m sorry, I don’t think anyone north of Neptune Way, that is, we don’t know—”

“Thanks, Craig.” Adrian’s voice was whisper soft but it effectively cut off Craig’s rambling answer. 

Pope gestured back toward the couch. Craig and Renn subsided back onto the cushions, cradling their drinks in their hands, faces tense.

“Come on.” Pope picked the straight path to the loveseat, Adrian’s hand still on his shoulder, following behind. After Pope stood the shot gun against the side table within reach, they sank onto the loveseat, the narrow width of the furniture piece pushing them together so they touched from shoulder to knee as they sat side by side.

Renn smiled, her posture easing. “When did you two meet up?”

“I found Adrian at the Trujillo Compound. I guess we’ve been here for a year. What’s going on in Oceanside?” Pope had been polite for his limit; he wanted to know what had happened to Smurf.

Craig rubbed his hands on the tops of his thighs. “Smurf’s gone. She was in the zone when the earthquake hit.”

Pope absorbed the news like he would an upper cut to the jaw; he braced himself, wobbled, but kept upright under his own steam.

Adrian’s hand squeezed his knee. Just that light touch was enough to ground Pope.

Without acknowledging the bomb he’d just dropped, Craig continued on. “We’re at the house with J and his new girlfriend and Deran and his, uh,” his brother checked himself, focus shifting to Adrian before returning to Pope. “Anyway, we’ve gone legit, man.”

Pope didn’t know how he felt about that.

Or how he felt about Smurf.

He’d had a plan to kill her himself at one time but knowing she had left the world…it kind of fucked with his mind.

Adrian cleared his throat. “What brought you out here?”

Craig’s face creased into a smile. “We were passing through and heard stories about a crazy fighter with crazy brown hair who had settled in the area. Had to check it out.”

Pope fought the urge to touch his hair; he didn’t care what he looked like. He hadn’t cut his hair in ages and the curls got out of hand with the added length…he didn’t give a fuck because Adrian liked it fine. He said it was soft and he liked to run his fingers through it, the strands twining around his fingers, making him smile. 

Sometimes Adrian grabbed Pope’s hair when Pope nailed that one spot that drove him crazy.

Pope didn’t understand how something up the ass could feel so good and had no interest in finding out but he was more than happy to fuck Adrian who clearly got off on it.

His thoughts had certainly wandered but he brought himself back to the present when Adrian rubbed the side of his face. Pope was sensitive to his tells; the guy was in pain. He pitched his voice low. “Do you need to lay down?”

Pulling a face, Adrian turned toward Pope, frowning. “I don’t want to, but, um, I’d better.”

Adrian hated showing weakness so Pope knew he was in significant pain. The question was whether it was physical or mental. 

His sister and nephew had most likely died, Deran had seemingly moved on…maybe Adrian just needed a break.

Pushing to his feet, Pope held his hand down and waited for Adrian to find it and latch onto it. As he rose to his feet, Adrian swayed; Pope steadied him with one hand to his hip, the other ready to brace him if necessary.

Glancing at their visitors Pope noticed their attention was completely on Adrian. Pope checked him over, head to toe, and tried to picture Adrian through their eyes. Adrian was three inches taller than Pope but he’d lost muscle mass so Pope was sure Adrian seemed frail in comparison. Pope knew Adrian had a core of iron but right now he looked like a stiff breeze would knock him off his feet. It was the way the long-sleeved shirt hung on his body and his bare feet peeped from beneath frayed denim jeans. Not to mention how his wavy hair was long enough to brush his collar bones and it drew attention to the hollows there. Add to that the pallor from not being in the sun and the shadows beneath his eyes that spoke of pain and exhaustion...Adrian looked sick. 

Pope needed to take better care of him.

Craig must’ve thought so, too, because he made the guy an offer. “Listen, Adrian, we’re going back north tomorrow. If you need a ride, we can get you to Oceanside.” 

Pope immediately tensed up.

What if Adrian wanted to return home?

Without Pope?

It hadn’t occurred to him that Adrian would want to return to Deran. The thought of Adrian leaving him knocked him off his axis. He could order Craig to leave, back it up with a fight if needed, and keep Adrian here.

Technically Adrian was still his indentured slave but Pope wanted Adrian with him of his own volition.

He became dizzy and he realized he was holding his breath.

Waiting for Adrian’s response.

“Thanks, Craig. But no thanks. I don’t belong in Oceanside anymore.” Adrian moved closer to Pope, practically burrowing into his side. The words, and gesture, loosened something deep inside of Pope and he drew in a gulp of air.

It wasn’t as though Adrian had said he wanted to stay with him, but Pope could read between the lines: _Adrian didn’t want to leave him._

_Someone was actually choosing to be with him._

Pope pulled himself together as Adrian made his excuses and then Pope helped him into their bedroom. Helped him out of his clothes. Helped him onto the bed. “What do you need?” Pope hated not being able to ease Adrian’s pain. He’d felt impotent many times in his life and this powerlessness when it came to Adrian gnawed at him.

Adrian sighed. “I just need you.”

He spoke in a complete sentence so from past experience Adrian would be fine.

Oh.

Adrian needed Pope.

Pope looked longingly at the bed, wishing he could curl behind Adrian and hold him. The desire to fuck him was still there but just having him close filled a need, too.

_Adrian chose to be with him._

The people in Pope’s life had usually been there grudgingly. Because they were family or felt sorry for him or needed him.

Adrian needed him but Pope knew the guy would’ve gotten help in Oceanside if he didn’t want to be here. Craig and Renn had practically fawned all over him. Adrian was a charming guy—anyone would be happy to have his company.

Not just anyone could take care of Adrian though. The guy might be blind but he wasn’t useless. He wanted to be productive, not put in a box and only looked at. 

Adrian wanted to be treated like an equal.

They had a division of labor and Adrian looked after Pope just as much as he looked after Adrian. He might not have wanted to label what they had but it was some kind of relationship.

The relationships Pope had been in before were pretty much about getting off and that was the same for those around him. Although he didn’t like it, he understood why Smurf never settled down. It was all about the thrill of the chase and when things got too unpredictable, or uncomfortable, she moved on.

At some point Pope had moved past that with Adrian which was weird. He wasn’t even into guys but things with Adrian were good. 

The best.

It was difficult but Pope made himself step out and close the bedroom door, sheltering Adrian. 

When he returned to the living room Craig and Renn stood awkwardly in front of the couch.

Craig fidgeted. “Is he okay?”

“He gets migraines. From the head injury.” Pope folded his arms over his chest. “Taking off?”

Shrugging, Craig looked at Renn before returning Pope’s stare. “We need to head out. Can we see you again?”

He preferred it when it was only him and Adrian in the cabin but the visit had been fine.

It had also lasted probably thirty minutes.

His limit for hospitality.

Pope shrugged. “Yeah.” 

Craig crinkled his nose, maybe put off by Pope’s less than effusive response. “You know you can visit us in O Side.” His attention drifted down the hallway where Adrian rested. “Both of you.”

He didn’t think he was ready to see Adrian around Deran again. He still had some doubts about Adrian’s feelings. And if Deran was around Adrian…his brother would lose his shit trying to take care of his blind friend. Ex-lover. Whatever. Even if Deran was with someone else, Pope didn’t think Deran could leave Adrian alone, especially once the protective urges kicked in. 

Apparently, that was one thing he shared with his baby brother.

He shrugged. “Maybe when Adrian is up to traveling.”

Craig seemed to accept that answer, nodding. 

Renn smiled at Pope. “Adrian’s a good guy. I’m glad he has you.”

He wasn’t sure what that meant—it almost sounded like a compliment—but he didn’t want to poke at it. 

“Be safe.” He stepped onto the front porch and watched as they got into the Jeep and drove off. Both Craig and Renn waved.

Pope nodded.

After securing the front door, and making sure no one else was on the property, Pope gravitated toward Adrian. The guy was on his side, hands resting beneath a sharp cheekbone.

Leaning against the doorjamb, Pope startled when Adrian spoke. “I don’t want to go up north. Unless you want to go.” 

“I don’t want to go anywhere, not without you.” That was as mushy as Pope got.

“For the record, I don’t want to reunite with Deran. I’m with you. Or whatever.” Pope’s heart melted at Adrian’s words. Ugh, he had feelings for the guy despite trying not to.

Adrian made him feel protective. Less angry. Content with life in a way he hasn’t been since he was a kid.

“Move over and I’ll see if I can massage away your headache.” He wasn’t good with words. Actions were better.

When Pope scooted behind Adrian and rubbed his thumb up and down the back of Adrian’s neck, the guy melted against him. “Mmm.”

Pope could work with that.

Finis

**Author's Note:**

> Loss of vision was the prompt for this story. I have one more story featuring Pope/Adrian and it's set in this 'verse.
> 
> Thank you for trying something different!


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